


Bottles on a Tray

by FaultyParagon



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, Post Advent Children, Recovery, References to Illness, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Turk-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Rufus awakens the day after Aerith's Holy rainfall saved them all, and for the first time in half a year, he feels alive and safe and at home. He has his Turks to thank for that.-Post AC.





	Bottles on a Tray

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic I wrote earlier this year on my FF.net. I adore the Turks.

Bottles on a Tray

The figure wrapped within cozy linen sheets stirs, piercing blue eyes glazed over in a dreary fog in the early hour. He sits upright slowly, wincing on reflex as phantom pains come back to haunt him- his throat is sore, his bones ache, and he can still remember the sting of the sheets as they slide across his skin with each movement. That last pain is gone, but the expectation remains, and he doesn't know when it'll ever truly leave his haunted memories.

Everything has happened so fast. Letting out a heavy sigh, he leans back against the headboard, running his hand through soft blond hair. Once upon a time, this hair was thick, lustrous, helping him exude power and seduction and confidence as only he could. Now, it is limp, thinned out. The damage of the epidemic has left other evidence throughout his body, too; it lingers in the ribs jutting out of his bare skin, the paleness of his complexion, the weakness of his muscles. In the hole in his soul. There is a lot which needs to be rebuilt, and not all of it is about him, his body, his mind. It will not be easy.

It's not all bad, though. He realizes that for the first time in half a year, his hair isn't damp, his sheets aren't sweat-streaked, and he actually feels refreshed upon awakening.

No one else is awake. In the early morning silence, he surveys the room, numbly taking in the image before him.

The pills sit unassumingly upon the nightstand by his bedside, where one might expect daily medicines to go. They wait upon a small mahogany tray, an empty coaster for his glass resting beside the numerous bottles. A daily pill organizer stretches out across the length of the tray, near the edge, where it is most accessible to its user. It is filled with precise measurements of daily tolerances- a painkiller here, an antiemetic there, and a multitude of antibiotics and antiviral medications which _really _shouldn't be taken together filling up all the space in between.

He tears his gaze away from the arrangement by the bed. Sunlight streams through the window of his bedroom and onto this tray within Healen Lodge- at least, through the window of what they all _call _'Rufus Shinra's bedroom'. In reality, the space is entirely unlike the man who was once so full of disdain and condescension, so embroiled within his own ego and grandeur that he couldn't bear to think of living life like an ordinary citizen. However, in this utilitarian time when all their extra resources are going into rebuilding the _world_, they are pressed for gil and pressed for space, and the lack of those two things does not an opulent home make.

Yet, although this room does belong to the young president of the Shinra Electric Power Company, the only true sign of _life_ within the room comes from his Turks. The walls of this room are empty, stark white, the cold hardwood floor only brightened up by a small rug Elena had managed to find one day in a market during a mission. A singular Wutain tapestry, a gift from Tseng, hangs upon the wall by the door, upholding an old proverb regarding the importance of a steadfast will and persevering heart as a reminder to the young president. The cozy armchairs are courtesy of Rude, of course, along with the copious novels and papers the man has managed to accumulate over the last six months of his employer's confinement within this room.

The trays are a gift from Reno. One contains the medicines, and another matching one sitting upon the desk carries brandies, whiskies, gins, scotches and rums from all over Gaia. There are glasses and shakers, an entire home minibar set up on the other side of the double bed which sits in the center of the room. He smirks. One tray to heal, and one tray to forget.

Rufus turns to one side of him, seeing a shocking splash of red hair spread out over his pillow. Reno's chest rises and falls gently with each breath as the man lays on his side, his normally leering or seductively-hooded eyes closed peacefully in slumber. He is curled on his side and facing Rufus, still in his suit but not under the blankets. One arm is sprawled across Rufus' waist, holding the blond safely even as he sleeps.

He turns to his other side. Elena is curled up next to him there, long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. One of those cheeks is still marred by bruising, yellow-purple marks peeking out from underneath medical tape holding her injured skin together. One palm lies open by her face, tiny fingers curled up slightly, beckoning him to hold them.

In one of the armchairs rests Rude, the man having pulled up the chair to the foot of the bed to face its occupant. He rests his head comfortably upon the back of the chair, his classic sunglasses askew despite the rest of his suit still being immaculate. From a distance, the man might still have looked imposing- but being this close allows Rufus to hear the light snores escaping the man's thin lips, breaking an otherwise utterly still silence. Rufus doesn't mind the sound.

The door opens, catching his eye. No matter how many times he sees the man in action, the quietness of Tseng's footsteps will always unnerve Rufus- he ponders this as Tseng approaches the bed, placing a fresh glass of water upon the coaster sitting within the medicine tray. He says nothing, but nods stiffly. Rufus knows that the head wound still pains him, and his heart- which he thought had frozen over years ago- breaks yet again, looking at how much pain and injury his existence has caused the Turks.

Tseng's eyes crinkle uncharacteristically in the corners, a rare sign of mirth on display. Gingerly, the older man takes a seat upon the edge of the bed, close to Reno's back. The redhead stirs, and Tseng runs a quiet, yet tender hand across Reno's hair, pushing his bangs off of his cheeks. The redhead settles back into a comfortable position and continues sleeping, unconsciously leaning into the delicate touch.

After Reno is settled, Tseng raises his hand and reaches out to Rufus, performing the same ministrations. Rufus doesn't reject the contact, doesn't push away as Tseng carefully runs long, graceful fingers through thinning blond hair, doesn't shy from those fingers tracing around his eye across pink, puffy skin, doesn't move out of reach as the touch trails down to his throat, which is exposed to fresh air for the first time in months.

"It doesn't hurt," Rufus mouths so as to not wake the others.

Slowly, Tseng nods, reaching up to cup Rufus' cheek for one long, intimate moment.

It's been six months since Rufus has felt Tseng's touch like this, unmarred by bandages and pain.

The moment is broken as Reno stirs, then Elena. Rude jolts himself out of his dreams, snorting and catching his breath before readjusting his glasses and massaging his temples. The redhead sits up slowly, leaning forward onto Rufus' shoulder as he blinks sleep out of his eyes. Elena does much of the same, pulling herself up to her knees and rubbing her eyes blearily.

Tseng smiles. "Welcome back, sir."

The words catch the attention of everyone in the room, and sleep is gone from the freshly-awoken trio in an instant. Exchanging wide-eyed glances, small smiles pull at their lips simultaneously. Suddenly, Reno's lips are on his, kissing him with fervour and excitement and passion; Elena's arms are clinging to his waist, her words stumbling on her still-tired lips as joy spills forth in every cheer she can think of; and Rude stands up, silently removing his sunglasses and pinching his nose, shutting his eyes tight. Rufus sees the tears that begin to roll down his cheeks anyways.

Tseng picks up the glass and holds it out to him once Reno releases him, the redhead jumping to his feet and hollering inanely. Elena crawls across the bed, right over Rufus' body to the other side of the room, pulling Reno into a tight hug as she joins in on the celebration. Soon, the two tackle their third counterpart, the gruff man desperately trying to wipe his relieved tears away while the other two tease him warmly.

Rufus takes the glass in his left hand, and Tseng sits back further on the bed, wrapping a gentle arm around the blond's shoulders.

He raises his empty hand, bringing his fingers to his neck, where the Geostigma has tainted his flesh, rotted him from the inside out for months. His fingers, curious and hesitant and explorative, run up to his eye, back to his throat, down his left forearm, pressing down on his stomach, across his pelvis and down his inner right thigh. Nothing hurts.

A year ago, the image of the Turks behaving in such a foolish manner would have revolted him. Today, that is no longer the case.

He drinks the water, taking a long, peaceful gulp. Each swallow does not bring a striking jab of pain to his body, and he drains the glass comfortably. Tseng takes the glass from him, looking prouder than Rufus has ever seen him. Letting out a contented sigh, he leans into Tseng's shoulder, the reality of what has happened over the last twenty-four hours finally settling in.

Aerith saved them all. He is cured. The Stigma is gone.

To the sound of cheers and excited cries and elated tears, Rufus swings his legs over the side of the bed, shuffling out of this room he has called his own ever since the illness began. Before he leaves, though, he turns to take another look at the four people watching him contentedly. They are the true heroes of his recovery. This room isn't really 'his', but it _is_ home_, _thanks to them.

He smiles. They salute, one by one.

The pills for the day remain untouched, and later that day, Tseng disposes of them. All of them. Rufus doesn't need them- not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
